


Too Close

by CutiePie4173



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms
Genre: Erik Has Feelings, F/M, Married Life, Panic, Smitten Erik, hand holding, in the underground lair, sneaky christine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:54:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24957943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CutiePie4173/pseuds/CutiePie4173
Summary: Married life is perfect. Except Christine wants to be closer.
Relationships: Christine Daaé & Erik | Phantom of the Opera, Christine Daaé/Erik | Phantom of the Opera
Comments: 6
Kudos: 68





	Too Close

Erik read the page again, still unable to take in a single sentence of meaning. Not when she was so close. Not when he could reach out and touch her. What if… What if he did it accidentally? What if she shifted her legs and the cloth of her skirt brushed his thigh? Or if she stood and her hand brushed his shoulder? Christine had been the one who insisted on sitting on the same sofa. Beside each other, so close. Erik preferred his reading chair by the hearth, but Christine said that it was silly that they were married and kept so far apart from each other. She seemed upset… And Erik was nothing if not loving to her, so he gave in and sat as far from her on the couch as possible.

But now… He couldn’t focus. Not with her legs tucked to one side as she leaned heavily on the arm of the sofa, engrossed in her novel. A mystery book, Erik mused. He had bought her a set from the same author - a woman! And she wrote little mystery books with romance and drama, just like Christine liked. When she laid down for her nap, Erik had taken to reading the novels as well, just so they could discuss over tea. But his own book on the Pre-historic era had long left his own head. He had gotten through a chapter, but then she had shifted her pose and the hem of her skirt had brushed at his leg.

Must she be so close? He could smell every note in her perfume this way. He could, if he liked, stare unashamedly at her, memorize the curves and dips of her petite nose, her furrowed brow, the upward lines of her lips as she read. As if he couldn’t trace each one out on paper already without reference.

He shut the book and let it rest in his lap, one hand resting on the sofa cushion and the other draped across his chest. His head gently tipped against the back of the sofa, his yellow eyes slowly closing. Best just fight out any temptation and escape into his own mind for a while. Yes, embrace the darkness and the warmth from the fire and perhaps indulge in the sweetness of her perfume… Just ignore that she was so close. Pretend it was like before their marriage. He had stolen her shawl once before and wrapped himself in the sweet scent of her, back when his obsession was new. He had been less careful back then.

Ah, the days before he was tied down to this place. When he had travelled the world, with no responsibilities but his own survival… Perhaps Christine would have preferred his younger self, a touch more reckless and wild. He had very little to live for back then, however. Dying any given day would have been a blessing. Now… Now his angel had given him reason to look forward to the next day. Perhaps he could get used to this closeness someday. He did wish for a wife, after all. To take with him in carriage rides, to walk with him on Sundays, to serenade in the evenings…

He nearly jumped out of his flesh when he felt a sudden warmth so close to his own hand. The yellow eyes shot open and slowly, ever so slowly, drifted downwards. Her hand was beside his own. Dear God, he could feel the heat from her. Her hand was so tiny compared to his own, so pink and soft-looking, so graceful. Parts of him wanted to jump up from the sofa right then and excuse himself to bed. He didn’t deserve to be anywhere near any part of her, let alone his hand so close to her own.

But a larger part of him froze him to the spot. What would she do? Would she cringe in horror at the thought of touching him? Would she touch him at all? Of course, she wouldn’t. Christine, his little minx, his taunting little jezebel would never- 

Dear lord above, her hand was touching his own. A quick glance to her face revealed nothing, still engrossed in her book. But the outer edge of her hand and her littlest finger were gently pressed against his own. Her hand… The heat was like fire against his skin, and dear God, he wanted more. He deserved nothing, but that heat was more than addicting. Still, his body was frozen to his place on the sofa and he didn’t move an inch. The thought of his heart bursting through his chest and ricocheting off the walls did occur to him, however. The thought of his lungs giving out from the quiet, harsh breaths. He feared if he attempted speech, nothing more than a primal moan could be managed. He stayed quiet and frozen, willing his body not to quiver or tense at her touch. 

And then, in one smooth motion, her fingers lifted and her hand rested atop his own. His mind could barely process her hand being there, so brash, right there on top! As her fingers found the empty spaces between his own, Erik felt light headed. She was so warm… Warmer than he though, and so small. They simply fit together somehow, in a strange way. The very motion of her fingers slipped so easily between his own nearly had him undone, but he managed.

A soft gasp escaped his lips much without intention, and his eyes drifted to her face. Her eyes seemed so intent on the book, but her lips had curled into a wry, mischievous smile. His Delilah, his Pandora, she did that on purpose! And now he was tasting heaven, her warm hand so flush against his own was nearly more than he could register. She was so light and small and warm and she fit so perfectly and the smile on her face…

A flushed Erik finally moved, curling the fingers on his own hand a touch to squeeze her own oh-so gently. This… This was love, hm? This heat, this feeling, this rush of adrenaline? Oh, and the ecstasy of her fingers curling fully around his hand, holding gently but so clearly holding… She meant it! Dear God, she meant it and everything was spinning… Her warmth, her touch, her perfume, her smile… This was too much, too great a feeling. Just as he almost pulled away… She turned her head and smiled. 

A soft groan escaped his lips as he looked at her, barely more than a whimper. “Chr-Christine…?” If this was a dream, may he never awake! His heart started to slow, his face slowly paled again, his lungs took in more air. Everything seemed hazy, yet his mind felt somewhat more clear. “Mmm… Ma femme…” His eyes darted down to his lap. She said nothing, only turning back to her book and squeezing his thin, bony hand again.


End file.
